When someone loves you

by Susan Johnson

  “Money. What else?”

  “They didn’t want Cricket?” Annabelle burst out.

  There was no point in adding to her dismay. “As I understood it, they were primarily interested in blackmail,” Julius remarked evasively. “But there’s no need for concern—people like the Harrisons are easily subdued.”

  “They are ruthless, Father.” Duff gave his father a significant glance.

  “I understand. But we have considerable power that Miss Foster’s family—excuse me, my dear, I don’t mean to be discourteous—but clearly the situation is quite different.”

  “Annabelle is worried for her family, particularly Cricket,” Duff interjected. “I gave instructions to bring them here.”

  “Excellent idea. One can never be too careful with people like”—the duke’s mouth twitched into a sneer—”the Harrisons. And all will be well,” he hastened to add, conscious of Anna-belle’s continuing distress. “You needn’t give the Harrisons another thought, Miss Foster.”

  “I am in your debt, Your Grace,” Annabelle murmured. Glancing up at Duff, who stood beside her chair, she gave him a quick smile.

  “To the contrary, my dear,” Julius offered. “We are in your debt for bringing out son back to sanity.” He smiled at Duff. “And a very satisfying sanity, I don’t doubt.”

  “Yes, very.” Duff placed his hand on Annabelle’s shoulder in a possessive gesture so plain the duke could not but notice.

  “Elspeth will be pleased to have guests,” Julius said, smiling at Annabelle. “Particularly Cricket, I suspect. My wife is smitten with your niece, Miss Foster. As we all are,” he added pleasantly.

  That Cricket was a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby with blond curls and big blue eyes gave credence to the maxim, The world is her oyster. She was indeed beloved by all.

  “Thank you… for… everything,” Annabelle stammered, feeling herself relax for the first time since seeing the Harrisons.

  “You are most welcome. Would anyone care for tea or sherry to wash away our distaste with such visitors?”

  “A sherry, I think… although perhaps… it’s too early,” Annabelle replied tentatively. She wasn’t in the habit of drinking in the morning, but then again, she wasn’t often so brutally surprised.

  “Make it two, Father,” Duff said. He didn’t drink sherry as a rule, but it was clear Annabelle required a soothing draught.

  Over their sherries, both men made a point of turning the conversation to inconsequential issues, and by the time Annabelle had finished her drink, she was relatively composed.

  “I think we’ll go upstairs and oversee the apartments being readied for Mrs. Foster and ensemble,” Duff said, as though he commonly took an interest in housekeeping.

  His father’s brows lifted slightly, but rather than remark on his son’s sudden interest in household matters, he simply said, “Your mother and sisters should be back for luncheon. If Annabelle’s family is here by then, why don’t we meet in the small dining parlor.” The duke, too, rarely involved himself in domestic issues, but he wished to make Annabelle feel comfortable, and to that end, he decided he’d better consult with the chef. There would be several added covers at luncheon today.

  As it turned out, it couldn’t have been a more delightful family party. Elspeth, Lydia, Georgina, and children returned in good time, and Elspeth took over the menu from her husband, although not without a droll remark about miracles actually happening.

  “Very funny, I’m sure,” he replied sportively. “At least the wines will be adequate. As for the rest, you may blame Francois. He overruled me on almost every item.”

  “With good reason, I suspect. Your preference for plain food is well known.”

  Between the duke and the chef, however, the luncheon menu needed very little tweaking by the duchess. And the family party, newly enlarged by the addition of Annabelle’s family, partook of excellent food and conversation that afternoon in the sunny dining parlor.

  The duchess and her daughters had been given an overview of the Harrisons’ visit, and they all took great pains to put Annabelle and her family at ease. That the Harrisons would be thwarted in their designs was not in doubt within the duke’s family, although, infinitely polite, no one broached the subject.

  Annabelle, in turn, had explained to her mother that the Harrisons had made demands, but the duke had sent them away. Mrs. Foster had not only been delighted that they had nothing to fear now that they were under the duke’s protection, but she and Molly also shared in some agreeable speculation apropos Annabelle’s and the marquis’s future. That he was obviously smitten, they both agreed. As for Annabelle, they were optimistic her reservations would be overcome.

  Mrs. Foster and Molly’s starry-eyed view of the world was illustrative of all those who have kept fairy tales alive over the centuries.

  Hope is a powerful and universal impulse.

  Chapter 33

  Mrs. Foster and Molly were even more encouraged when the duchess suggested they go for a drive in Hyde Park once they finished dessert.

  “It’s such a lovely, warm day. And Cricket will love being outside, won’t she, my dear Julia?” she said with a smile for Annabelle’s mother. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Duff. “Do be a dear and have the barouche brought round.”

  As Duff rose to do his mother’s bidding, Annabelle felt a distinct rush of trepidation. While the duchess was making it clear that Annabelle and her family were under her guardianship, Annabelle found the thought of meeting all the world in Hyde Park mildly unnerving. The entire beau monde would be out riding or driving in the park, late afternoon the requisite time to see and be seen.

  On the other hand, her mother was clearly unconcerned; Cricket wouldn’t be aware of the social ramifications, and if anyone could school their expression to one of bland politesse, she certainly could.

  So, before long they were in Hyde Park enjoying the summer day, Duff riding alongside the open carriage, Annabelle and her mother in one seat, the duchess seated opposite them, holding Cricket. They’d been acknowledged by numerous waves and general greetings by those riding or in carriages when the Regent, being driven in an elegant curricle, waved them to a stop. He spoke to everyone; he was a man known for his charm. He even admired Cricket, a considerable gallantry from a man who generally avoided children, including his only daughter. And in a particular mark of favor, he invited Duff and Annabelle to dinner at Carleton House.

  Duff accepted with good grace, although the prince was of his father’s generation, not his. But Prinny had an eye for beautiful women and Duff suspected Annabelle was the reason for their invitation.

  She said as much once they were returned to Westerlands House.

  “Must we go?” she said, wrinkling her nose. She and Duff were in his sitting room after the rest of the family had gone off to play with Cricket. “I’ve been avoiding the Regent for years.”

  “You needn’t worry. I’ll be with you, and prince or not, I don’t allow poachers.”

  Annabelle’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not your property.” She was already out of patience with a dinner at Carleton House in the offing. She didn’t need any further instances of male prerogatives.

  “Let me reword that. If you need assistance keeping Prinny at bay, please allow me to be of help.”

  She laughed. “You are a disarming rogue.”

  “I know,” he drawled, his brows flickering in mockery. “For your information, I am also universally adored.”

  He might be teasing, but she rather thought not.

  “And speaking of adorable, did you notice even Prinny commented on Cricket’s beauty?” he said like a proud father.

  His remark warmed Annabelle’s heart. “Cricket always commands attention, there’s no doubt,” she agreed. “Although,” she added, coloring faintly, “you know what gossip will imply.”

  “About what?”

  “Please. You know full well what I mean.”

  “That Cricket is yours and mine
? Let them talk. It makes no difference.”

  “Disregard for gossip is much easier for you than for me. Not that I’m not familiar with censure, but this?” She made a moue. “I have purposefully avoided the plight of unwed mother. Good God, Duff, don’t panic,” she said with a smile. “You arc not expected to do anything—nor am I alluding to marriage.”

  He was courteous enough not to say, Thank God, although a moment later, he took issue with the fact that she had no wish to marry him. For a man who had been pursued by every female on the marriage mart for a great number of years, her indifference was disconcerting. “Do you mean you don’t wish to marry me?”

  “Of course I don’t. It’s impossible, anyway, as you well know.”

  “Impossible? Why?”

  “For a thousand reasons, all of which you and I are cognizant of—and the world is as well. As for rumors about Cricket, don’t give them another thought. It’s no concern of yours. I will deal with them.”

  “Hmm,” he said, sliding lower in his chair, gazing at her from under his lashes, his expression restive. “It wouldn’t necessarily be out of the question for us to marry.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Duff, you’re acting like a child who has been told he can’t have something. I am more than content with things as they are. Gossip about Cricket is not the first time I have had to stare down the public. Rest easy—this is none of your concern.”

  “What if I make it mine?”

  “You can’t. Cricket has nothing to do with you.”

  “I could claim her.”

  She smiled. “You are vastly spoiled, Duff. You cannot have your way in all things.”

  “But I always have.” He conveniently overlooked the misery of the year past, but then, he wasn’t currently arguing with either reason or dispassion.

  “Then perhaps it’s time you don’t.”

  He slid upright in his chair. “Are you saying you can keep me from doing what I want?”

  “That depends, I suppose, on what you want,” she said with a wink.

  “Dammit.” He grinned. “I’m serious.”

  “And I’m not. Come, we’ll talk of more pleasant things.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Or not talk at all. We don’t have to go down for dinner for at least—”

  “Please, Duff, consider. You bled all over yesterday.”

  “But not since then”—he opened his arms wide—”as you see. And Stewart said these things will happen. You heard he wasn’t concerned. Why don’t I lock the door,” he murmured, coming to his feet.

  “I can’t, Duff. Not here.”

  She didn’t say she wouldn’t, which was encouraging. As was the slight tremor in her voice. “Next door, then. In my room.”

  He had made it clear earlier that no one entered his bedroom unbidden, Annabelle found herself thinking when she shouldn’t be thinking anything of the kind. When she should be wary of hurting Duff or having family members knock on the door and be told to go away. When it wasn’t imperative she have several orgasms before dinner.

  “There’s plenty of time,” Duff whispered as though reading her mind.

  She made the mistake of glancing at the clock.

  Duff was attuned to subtleties of female behavior; there had always been husbands eyeing him warily in the presence of their wives. He could interpret the smallest gesture with ease. “Why don’t I promise not to move at all. I’ll show you how it works,” he added, covering the small distance that separated them and taking her hand.

  “I don’t know, Duff…”

  “I’ll be sure for both of us. How would that be?” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips lightly and smiled his most seductive smile—the one that promised wild pleasures and unforgettable memories.

  She had meant to resist. Had she done so, she would have been the first to withstand that lazy smile. “I shouldn’t,” she said.

  Which didn’t mean shouldn’t, as he very well knew. “It sounds as though you need convincing,” he murmured diplomatically, drawing her toward the connecting door to his bedroom.

  “If you must know,” she said pettishly, struggling with the altered dynamic in terms of amour, tugging at his hand in a fit of pique, “I dislike feeling this way. As though I’m at your mercy.”

  He stopped abruptly and turned to her. “We could argue about who is most in thrall,” he said pointedly, a certain moodiness in his tone. “If I had my way, I would keep you under lock and key and never let you out of my bed. It is not my usual way.”

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  “Indeed, so don’t talk to me about who yields to whom.”

  “I see,” she murmured.

  “Indeed,” he said, somewhat snappishly this time.

  “We are both not used to these unrestrained feelings,” Annabelle said gently.

  He seemed to visibly bring himself under control, and a moment later a small smile appeared on his lips. “On the other hand,” he murmured, “why not enjoy them?”

  “While the sun shines,” she said with an answering smile, understanding perfectly. “How much time do we have?”

  “Not enough,” he said, moving toward his bedroom once again.

  A short time later, flushed and panting after her second orgasm, her hands braced on his shoulders, she whispered, “How do you do it?”

  They were ensconced in Duff’s bed, he lying immobile beneath her, she straddling his hips, impaled on his erection. And so they had been—his lean, rangy form utterly still except for relevant blood flow, while she had climaxed twice and he once and counting.

  He didn’t explain that he’d learned the practice from a mystic in Morocco. Nor did he mention that it took him a month in the mountains with the mystic, some very good hashish, and a number of accommodating young women. But he’d mastered the capacity to control his arousal and ejaculation for lengthy periods of time.

  Never say he couldn’t apply himself if he wished.

  “It’s all in the breathing,” he said, in lieu of more controversial and complex answers. Then consciously directing his thoughts, some portion of his anatomy stirred infinitesimally and Annabelle didn’t ask any further questions.

  She was too busy.

  Although the frenzy of their passions was in accord and they both gave themselves up to every degree of pleasure in the interval before dinner.

  And when they appeared in the dining room—slightly late—no one mentioned their hastily combed hair, nor their heightened color.

  They were merely greeted with bland smiles and piquant interest.

  Chapter 34

  The next morning at breakfast, there was no other word for it but pandemonium. With everyone at the table, including children, the combined families numbered twelve. The noise levels were considerable, the conversation skipping from subject to subject as Lydia’s and Georgina’s children asked about one activity or another they wished to partake in or harassed their siblings. The duchess, in turn, read aloud various items from the gossip columns that required dissection of one kind or another while the duke looked up from his paper from time to time to offer up some nugget of current interest.

  Duff and Annabelle sat side by side, largely silent, quietly exchanging glances and smiles, surreptitiously touching each other under the table and in general basking in the glow of a night devoted to sexual pleasure.

  Everyone was cheerful, the family scene both spirited and ripe with contentment.

  Bamford came into this agreeable tableau, and walking over to the duke, leaned down and murmured something into his ear.

  The duke immediately set down his paper and came to his feet. “Please go on without me. A small matter of business has arisen.”

  But Duff recognized an odd note in his father’s voice, and pushing his chair back, rose as well. “I’ll go with you. There’s the Tattersalls auction pamphlet we should look over before noon.” He smiled at Annabelle. “I’ll be right back.”

  The duchess glanced at her husband,
but said nothing.

  Witnessing the look that passed between the duke and duchess, Annabelle felt a shudder of unease race up her spine.

  But Cricket knocked over a glass of milk at that precise moment, and as the two men left the room, everyone’s attention was centered on the spill.

  ———

  “Some problem, I gather,” Duff murmured a moment later, keeping pace with his father as he moved toward his study.

  “A solicitor is asking for me, Bamford said. No doubt the Harrisons have engaged legal help in their blackmail attempt.”

  “They should be bought off. Then, they’d have no further claim to Cricket.”

  “I’m not averse to that. However, I dislike being threatened. Nor do I care to deal with people of their stamp. Plunkett can handle the matter for us. And I will say as much to this solicitor of theirs.”

  But when Duff and his father entered the study, they found one of London’s prominent barristers awaiting them. Both men understood that the Harrisons couldn’t afford McWilliams, and each, in their own way, braced themselves.

  Mr. McWilliams, of McWilliams, Steepleton, and Lowe, came directly to the point. Turning from the window where he’d been surveying the street below, he walked over to Duff.

  “Papers for Miss Annabelle Foster, pertaining to a custody action,” he said. “If you would be so kind as to give these to her. I understand she is currently in residence. The Earl of Walingame has retained the services of our firm to handle the case for him,” he added, dropping his second bombshell with the bland expression of a prosecutor.

  “I understood the earl had quitted England,” Julius pointed out.

  “Prior to his leaving, he spoke with us. He wishes sole rights to a female child in Miss Foster’s possession.”

  Duff’s temper showed in the sudden set of his jaw. “What proof do you have that the child is his?” he said, resentful and offended.

  “Those facts will be fully disclosed in court,” the barrister replied calmly. “I’m sure your barristers will apprise Miss Foster of the relevant position she occupies in regard to this matter. Good day, your lordships.” And with a bow he’d perfected after much practice, McWilliams left the study.